Nouveau Art

By DX

Copyrighted 10/2000, 4/2025 all rights reserved.

 Pain stabbed Alex between the eyes as he awoke. Light, white and harsh beamed down on him and he squinted, and tried to see as consciousness flooded his senses. His limbs felt like lead, and as he struggled to move, he realized that he had been strapped down to a gurney of some kind. His jaw ached, and as he tried to speak or call for help, he realized that he'd been gagged.

 Alex lifted his head, ignoring the dull ache in his frontal lobe.  As he did, he could feel the fine hairs on his limbs tingle in the damp air. He looked down and confirmed that he was indeed naked. With his eyes adjusting, he looked around. A large basement, unfinished walls… a dungeon? Iron rings were embedded into the stone, cages hung from the ceiling, benches bristled with spikes, a brazier glowed with burning coals and hot branding irons lay in the heat.

 Motion in the corner of Alex’s eye drew his attention, and he saw Matt, his best friend, hanging by his wrists from chains running from the ceiling. His feet were shackled to rings in the floor and were pulled wide apart. He was gagged, with a fat, red ball strapped tightly into his mouth. His head bobbed as he began to wake. He too was naked, and Alex couldn't help but admire Matt's lean, hard body, the light accenting his rippling abs, his shredded lats, his buns of titanium.  Alex had a body made by Budweiser, and every time he saw Matt, he silently raged in jealousy.

 Alex heard someone grunting, and he looked over and saw Carl was bent over and locked in stocks. Carl was fully awake.  His eyes were filled with terror, and his mouth filled with a gag.

 "Ah, so you gentlemen are finally awake.”  A deep timber voice sounded in the echoey room.

 Alex looked up sharply as a well dressed man walked down the steps to the dungeon, his delicate lips in a bemused smile.

 "I apologize for my methods.”  He said insouciantly, as if kidnapping was a daily occurrence.  “I realize how rude it is of me to drug your morning coffees and secret you to my lair just to meet with you, but I felt it was a matter of urgency." He looked around at the faces of the men, reading their confusion. "Let me introduce myself." He stood at attention and clicked his heels as he bowed slightly. "I am Oscar Wolf. I am a dealer in rare artwork and artifacts.  I specialize in the nouveau.” He looked a little surprised as he scanned the faces of the men. "Still drawing a blank? I assumed since you knew my driver Max so well you would at least know of me. You all know Max don't you? You met him last week and beat him to within an inch of his life, remember? Something about him being gay." His face dropped into full surprise. "Surely you remember that? How many queers do you attack and leave for dead?"

 Alex searched his memory.  Quite a few actually. 

 It was nothing for he and his friends to cruise the streets and beat down a couple queers.

 Oscar seemed a little miffed. “Well, how about this?" He proposed. "You also wrecked my Lexus."

 Alex could see the car in his mind. Black, sleek, and reeking of wealth. He remembered they had been taking a piss in an alley when Matt had gotten into it with some queer.  Alex was pulling up his fly when he turned and saw Matt had the guy against the wall. The pansy had his hands up, trying in vain to avoid the inevitable fight. "I meant no offense." He driver pleaded. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

 "I saw you!" Matt shot back hotly. "I saw you looking at my ass!" His big fists tightened up. "I'm gonna teach you to look at my ass!"

 And the beating began. The driver had dropped to the ground, curled up into a ball and put his hands up to protect his head, but it did him little good against their steel toed boots. When they tired of kicking him, they found steel pipes in a dumpster and went to work on the car.

 "So now you remember!" Oscar announced. "I'm glad we got that out of the way. At least now you know why you're here. Max was not only a driver, but a very dear friend to me, and I don't think you should get away with what you did." He snapped his fingers sharply. "Speaking of which, you nearly did. Not like the police were going to worry their little heads over it. And even if they did find you, it's not like Max was going to identify you. You see, Max has yet to regain consciousness. And the doctors believe he will never be the same again. Reduced mental capacity." Oscar paused as he forced down the anger raging within him. "He may never wake up." He looked up, his sharp eyes flickering in the light. "Almost the perfect crime, but you see; you three couldn't help but brag. How proud you were that you ganged up on a helpless man that you didn't realize that one of your co-workers was a closet homosexual. He called me, and we made the arrangements to bring you down here so we could have a little chat about your future."

 Oscar waved his hand, showing off the room. "This is my workshop. This is where I send and receive my priceless works. You see, Max was priceless to me, just like my works of art, and now, you’ve taken him from me. So, I think it’s only fair that you should replace him." He pointed to Matt. "Max was a beautiful man. Absolute eye candy." Oscar ran a delicate finger across Matt's rippling stomach. "I could never tire of looking at him. So that is what I'm going to do to you. Make you my private eye candy."

 Suddenly the shadows peeled from the walls and formed men garbed in black.  They moved in precision towards Matt's struggling body while Oscar stood back and watched. "When transporting ancient statues, we developed a special technique to protect the statue from the sea air, and the bumps and dings of transport.  We seal the statue in several coats of Permalex. A special, synthetic latex coat which protects the statue.  It can be easily removed on destination. It’s great on stone, but it's a little dangerous when it comes in contact with human skin. The natural acids on the skin mix with the Permalex and causes it to bond… permanently.”

 Matt continued his struggles as the men grabbed him and held his head steady. They pulled the gag from his mouth, but before he could so much as swear, they shoved a tube down his throat."

 Oscar sat down in a chair, to watch the show. "That tube in your mouth will deliver the Permalex inside of you. It will coat your larynx, and freeze up your vocal cords. Can't have a noisy statue, can we? It will work through your system, and coat your insides. That will prevent any gastric problems. That massive anal plug being stuffed into your virgin asshole will bond with the Permalex in your body. It also has another function.  The plug is powered by the natural heat of your body, a tiny, tiny voltage, but more than enough to deliver an electric current to the prostate.  Through a series of electric contacts and sensors, it will keep you sexually stimulated, but programmed not to let you experience orgasm. This, I think, creates a continual emission of a raw, desperate and frustrated sexual aura that will create a subliminal appeal in the audience.  Don’t you agree?  People will be drawn to your miasma of lust and longing on a primal level and not know why.”  He smiled as if he tasted something delicious.  “What art!”

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Copyrighted 10/2000, 4/2025 all rights reserved.

The Favor

By DX

Copyrighted 12/03, 3/2025 All rights reserved.

Ryan wiped the sweat from his palms as he walked up the stone steps to the screen door. With a shaky hand he rang the bell and waited the eternal few seconds before the door opened. His breath caught in his throat as the image of beauty stood before him. Her hair of liquid jet spilled across her milky skin and her eyes filled with starlight sparked from beneath her mane.

 "Uh," Ryan found his voice. "I'm here to see Marco. He's expecting me."

 The woman said nothing.  The shimmering gold disk that locked her lips away made sure she remained silent. She only winked longingly at him, then lead the way. As she tuned, Ryan couldn't help but notice her battleship breasts, her tiny breath stealing waist, and her smackable derriere that peeked out from beneath her way too short skirt. Nothing was left to the imagination as she walked on her tiptoe high heels. Ryan had to adjust himself as they moved across the living room to the kitchen as his arousal was evident. It was not wise to look at Marco's wife with impure thoughts.

 Marco sat at the kitchen table, a paper napkin tucked into his shirt, and he smiled proudly as Ryan entered. "Ryan! My man! How you doin'?" He waved at the empty chair across from him. "Sit down! You remember my wife, Erin?" He motioned to the beautiful woman who had escorted him in. "You might not recognize her with her new Chasti-Permalocks. She was a little too promiscuous one time too many." He smiled. "Now she's more attentive to my needs." He snapped his fingers. "Where are my manners? Have you had any breakfast? Here, have a danish! Little John picked them up fresh this morning. Ah, so good!" He motioned to the behemoth standing behind him. "Little John, get Mr. Ryan a cuppa coffee ana danish!" He then motioned to the smaller man standing by the fridge. "Ryan, you remember Nick?"

 Ryan nodded nervously at the slight man with steely eyes who only picked his fingernails with a stiletto.

 Marco pulled the napkin from his neck and folded it neatly. "Ryan, I appreciate you coming over so early and on such short notice.”  His voice became serious.  “A few weeks ago you came to me and asked for a favor.”  He brightened.  “I have some good news for you." He snapped his fingers at Nick and the little man put his knife away and picked up the T.V. remote. "I think you'll be pleased." Marco settled back to watch the T.V..

 Blurry, eerie green images sharpened to clarity as the video camera's low-light warmed up. Shaky, moving images as the cameraman made his way clumsily through the bushes.  Ryan recognized his house (his old house), then watched as his car (his old car), wheeled into the driveway. He caught his breath as he watched his wife Megan (his ex-wife Megan) climb from behind the wheel. Her long legs flowed from beneath the skirt of her expensive dress.  Her platinum hair, lime green in the video, splayed in the gentle wind. Her eyes, the beautiful eyes that he first fell in love with, were unconcerned as she made her way up the walk, the click of her high heels the only sound in the video. She fumbled for her keys unaware of the hulking shadow silently that moved up behind her.

 "Danish?" Ryan nearly leapt from his chair as Little John slid the plate before him. Ryan nodded a weak thank you, then looked back at the screen just as Little John in the video, as quiet as a mouse, calmly and smoothly stepped up behind Meg and with one massive arm grabbed her, crushing her arms to her sides and lifting her into the air while the other hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her screams of alarm. As he hoisted her, head lights from a delivery van flared, blotting out the video for terse seconds as it made its way up the drive. The cameraman was moving, following Little John as the big man stepped into the opening door of the van. Nick was there, closing the door behind them. Fighting to keep balance in the now moving van, Nick peeled long strips of silver tape. The camera panned back to Meg's face. The hand from the cameraman, a woman's delicate hand, reached out to Meg's panicked face.  As Little John pried open Meg’s mouth, the camera operator shoved in a fat rubber ball in, wedging it tight with her thumb. She moved her thumb as Nick layered on the tape. Within moments, Meg was bound tight in yards of silver tape and silenced.

 The image flickered and the scene changed. It was color now. A lit warehouse. In the center of the room was a tall box with clear acrylic walls, beside that was a cement mixer chugging away. Little John's giant body blocked the view for a few seconds as he carried Meg in. Her muffled cries and protests were ignored as she was laid out on a table where Nick quickly strapped her down. That done, Nick donned surgical gloves.

 "Nick went to med school." Marco explained, motioning at the TV.

 "Veterinary." Nick clarified.

 Ryan was transfixed on the screen, his mouth agape, as Nick in the video pulled out his switch blade and cut away Meg's clothes. Marco's wife, Erin was on the screen now.  She balled up Meg's mane of hair and stuffed it into a bathing cap which she stretched over the struggling woman's head. She stepped away and was replaced by Little John who's massive hands clamped Meg's head to hold her steady.

 Nick took a swab and rubbed Meg's neck, covering her with antiseptic. He then coated his knife.

 Ryan held his breath as he watched Nick slowly insert the knife into Meg's throat, deftly cutting into her trachea.  Nick then inserted a stoma, re-routing Meg's breathing, and secured it with a band around her neck.

 "You'll notice she's quiet now." Marco narrated. "Her air is now redirected from her vocal cords. This will ensure an un-interrupted air way, and perfect silence. Not a whimper."

 Ryan watched the video as Nick then took a thin, plastic tube and inserted it into the stoma. "For feeding." Marco explained. 

 Once Nick was satisfied the tube was down into her stomach, he nodded, and Little John unstrapped Meg from the table.  He then lifted her up, and carried her to the box.

 Erin held the door to the box open as Little John lifted Meg up and stood her up on the concrete base of the box. Nick then took long rods of re-bar and set them into preset holes. Once secured, Meg was wedged tightly, standing in the box. Nick took a large tube and connected the stoma in her throat to a special hole in the clear, plastic door of the box.

 Meg desperately struggled against the steel rods and silver tape to no avail. Her eyes of anger and fear flashed hotly. Watching the video, Ryan felt the need to adjust himself again as her hot body clad in only a bra and panties writhed in desperation and frustration.

 Back in the video, Little John stood off to the side and took a letter from his pocket. He then fished out his reading glasses. "Dear Megan," the letter began. "You fuggin' bitch. I bet you thought you was so smart when your slick divorce lawyer took everything I owned, even my home.  Well, now the joke is on you. I give you this new house of concrete. You shall be entombed alive, buried in cement and dropped into the ocean. There you will be kept alive in the cold embrace of stone until the end of time. No one will rescue you. As we speak, your boyfriend is currently wearing a cement overcoat and holding up part of the new highway overpass. Enjoy your new home. Sincerely, Ryan."

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Copyrighted 12/03, 3/2025 All rights reserved.

Brad's New Mistress

By Dx

Copyrighted 1997, 2/2025 all rights reserved.

 Brad winced as the crop lashed his nipple with a stinging welt. Pain racked his chest in layers, its warmth feeling its way into his heart, down his spine and out of his erect body in invisible sparks.

 His mistress flicked her crop again against the nipple, counting aloud: "48!" 

 Brad whimpered as sweat rolled steadily down his body. The iron shackles holding him to the x-frame dug cruelly into his skin. His lips trembled as spittle slipped from his mouth. A peanut was perched precariously between his teeth. He could hear the shout of "49!" as his blistered nipple shuddered against another skillful blow. A cry escaped his throat.

 One more, he chanted to himself, one more.

 Surely his nipples were cracked and bleeding.  She must have gone over board this time. Brad tried to force the idea from his mind and concentrate on the peanut in his teeth, but he knew what ever damage she had done, he would not be able to hide.

 "50!" 

 The last blow fell with a whistling snap and landed on target to Brad's inflamed nipple with an unequaled force, re-awakening pain numbed nerves and sending them into overload. Brad felt the tiny, fragile peanut shatter in his mouth.

 "You almost made it." Her voice, purring, cooing, flowing like syrup into his ear. "Your punishment is fifty more."

 "Please..." Brad whimpered, gasping. "My, my wife will..." Brad realized his mistake. He had mentioned the marks in last week's session. He had told his mistress that it was getting harder and harder to hide them from his unsuspecting wife.

 In response mistress whipped him harder, clamped his balls and nipples and laid into them with a tawse, screaming that he only had one mistress and he had better choose. 

 Brad trembled, feeling he was about to suffer, horribly.

 But this time, instead of fire and brimstone, she smiled, tenderly, sweetly, her eyes casting their spells of light. "But isn't that what you paid for?" She laid a leather clad finger on his raging erection. "I believe it is." Her finger circled about his loins, feeling his scrotum, moving the testicles about in their sack while pre-cum fluid oozed from his cock. “You're paying for the privilege of serving me. You are here for my pleasure, not yours. I think you've forgotten that. You can find a hundred mistresses to flog you like a dog, but not like I can." 

 The crop lashed suddenly at his engorged cock sending a rippling pain through him. Her arm was a blur as the crop lashed again and again. Brad screamed as his mind paraded images that he was being stroked with a plume of fire. He closed his eyes as he could feel the brimming orgasm within him push for release.

 She stopped suddenly, touching his raging member with her cold finger tips. "I don't want a slave who thinks me as his employee, telling me when to start and stop. I want a slave who will devote his body to me, his soul..." She let the thought trickle as she slipped the hot flange of the crop gently against the underside skin of his cock. "Give this to me." She whispered. "Do you want only one mistress? Then pledge your cock to me, so that I may own it and do with it as I please."

 She gripped his cock in her hand and felt its seizing twitch. Brad was drunk with pain, mad with pleasure, he had yet to cum and she wasn't going to let him. He forgot his wife and forgot his marriage as his hips thrust into her palm. "Yes my mistress!" He panted wildly. "I pledge my cock, my balls, to you to do as you please!"

 Her crop fell again, this time against the underside of his penis while her hand clutched the glands. Within seconds he spewed like a fountain. 

 He felt not pain, not guilt, only ecstasy.

 As his orgasm subsided, he looked up with blurry eyes at his mistress as she reached up to him and forced a large ball gag into his mouth and strap it closed. His addled mind wondered why she wasn't freeing him, why the session wasn't over.

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Copyrighted 1997, 2/2025 all rights reserved.
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